


i'm waking up (i feel it in my bones)

by screwsfallout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coping, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Nogitsune posession, Mention of major character death, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Stilinski Family Feels, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwsfallout/pseuds/screwsfallout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is learning to be okay again, after everything.  Post 3b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm waking up (i feel it in my bones)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Melesmeles for the beta, and for her general existence.
> 
> Warnings in the end notes - skip down for notes on major character death.

They make the Nogitsune go away. Afterwards, Stiles sleeps.

His conscience doesn't have the chance to run itself in circles. Stiles' body literally shuts down, closes it's doors to all external stimuli. He's in and out for three days, but he doesn't remember.

When he wakes up, it's light out. Scott is in a chair next to his bed doing homework.

Stiles instinctively feels panic welling up in his chest, pushing against his ribcage and weaving it's way into his lungs. Scott looks up.

“Dude.” Scott's voice is like gravel. He's exhausted, but his eyes are bright and they focus on Stiles. Scott moves onto the bed and Stiles flinches, his hands jerking against the covers. Part of Stiles wants to bury himself into Scott's chest, to hear his best friend's heartbeat, to block out all the sunlight streaming in from the windows. An uglier part of Stiles says no, says you stabbed him, manipulated him, you tried to kill him. You don't deserve Scott. You don't deserve to be alive, even. Go back to sleep and don't wake up. You killed people. Go back to sleep.

“Stiles. Hey. Stiles, look at me.” Scott's voice is warm. Stiles looks up. “You're okay. It's gone, I promise.”

This is the first time Stiles has really been aware since...well, since everything. And given the past few weeks, he's not really inclined to just believe. He doesn't feel like he's dreaming but then again, that's never actually stopped it from being a dream. If this is a dream, it's the cruelest one he can imagine.

Scott looks frustrated, like he can tell Stiles doesn't think this is real. “I promise. It's gone, we – Chris and Derek, they drew it out and. It doesn’t matter right now but, look, can you count your fingers with me?”

Scott wraps his hand around Stiles' and opens his fist, counting off each finger. One, two, three. All the way until ten. Stiles still looks unsteady and Scott shoves a paperback book under his face. “Read it.”

Stiles breath speeds up.

“Dude, read it. Look I'll start: And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.” Scott looks at Stiles expectantly.  “C’mon you can do it: What I have to do, I-”

“I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff,” Stiles' voice is strange. If Scott's voice is gravel, Stiles' is broken glass. Fragile, ragged, and sharp. “I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.”

Scott breathes. Stiles breathes.

“See. You can read; you have all ten fingers. Dude, it's you. It's real.”

It's real. It's real, and it cuts into him. It hurts; physically. It burns through his arms and into his throat. It makes his heart thump faster. It makes his eyes ache.

“I hurt people, didn't I? I killed people.”

“It wasn't you.”

“I – oh my god, I shot Derek”

“He's alright; he's healing.”

And then. And then. “Scott, Scott, I killed -”

“Stiles, we don't have to talk about that. Not right now.” Scott’s expression looks wrong, like puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. He looks like he could fall apart, too.

All at once, Stiles feels a strong absence and although he remembers most of what happened with the Nogitsune, his fear, his uncertainty wins out.

“Dad?! Where's my dad.” Stiles tries to get up and his whole body protests. Scott pushes him down firmly and frowns.

It's like the world stops. Stiles has never had a panic attack hit him this quick. It comes like a freight train. His ribcage is bruised with it. His lungs are petrified. There are no short gasps, or hiccups. There is nothing. His mouth flaps open and closed.

“Stiles? Stiles?! Breathe! Your dad is fine, he's at his performance review, he didn't want you to know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean – please breathe, oh my god, it’s okay, shhh, okay...”

His dad is alive.

His dad is alive, but he might not have been. The bomb. The gun. There were so many opportunities. Waves crash around Stiles' ears.

Scott grabs Stiles by the shoulders. “We're gonna take a big breath in on three, okay? One, two, three.” Scott takes a dramatic breath, making a big sound. Stiles wheezes. “Let's try again. On three. One, two, three.”

Stiles manages to siphon some air. They do it again and again and again until Stiles is shaking and sweating and finally breathing. Scott doesn't let go. He pitches forward and hugs Stiles. Scott's shoulders are shaking too. He's crying.

“I thought -” Stiles' voice is muffled against Scott's chest,

“I know, I'm so sorry, it's my fault. I didn't want to upset you because of everything with my dad. I didn't think.”

“It's okay. Yeah, I just. He's good, though? He's alright?”

“He's fine, totally fine, not a scratch. I promise.”

Stiles hears the underneath. He's fine really means his dad is worried sick, he hasn't slept. Not a scratch means his dad is cut where no one can see it; he's hurt inside. Stiles is hurt inside too.

They hug and Stiles sinks into Scott's hold against his better judgment. He feels like he hasn't touched anyone in a long time, and Scott is steady.

“I'm sorry.” Stiles says.

“It wasn't you.” Scott says.

“I'm still sorry.” Stiles says.

Scott doesn't say anything, just holds him a little tighter, like he can hold Stiles together all on his own.

  
*  
  


Three weeks later, Stiles is walking and talking and eating and sleeping (kind of). Lydia's been by, and he can't imagine how she stands to even look at him. Kira brings brownies. Isaac hasn't come but, well, who can really blame him.

Scott doesn't leave. It should be reassuring but it makes Stiles' skin itch. His Dad's been home every day too, mostly because he's on “mandatory leave” while the State processes the hearing information.

They've watched a lot of movies. Mostly stupid stuff. Anchorman, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, fucking Grown Ups 2. They tried to watch The Avengers, but Stiles flipped his shit when Loki mind-controlled Hawkeye. That was awkward. So since then it's mostly been really, really innocuous comedies and romances and sitcoms.

They've ordered pizza a lot. And Chinese. No one's cooked, but Melissa brings over dinner when she comes to check on Stiles' bandages. His dad looks a little hurt every time Stiles lets him order pepperoni. There's just a lot of things Stiles doesn't have energy for right now.

What he does have, though, is pills.

Man, does he have pills. He has benzodiazepines for sleep and anxiety. He has narcotics for pain. He has antidepressants too. Stiles is like a fucking pharmacy.

He hasn't touched them.

  
*  
  


Stiles goes back to school on a Tuesday. His clothes still hang off of him. Scott is like his personal guide dog, glued to his side, blocking every obstacle. Stiles appreciates it, he really does, but it makes his teeth clench too. He feels like a child. Kira and Isaac and Scott all try very hard to act normal. There’s a lot of whispering, but fuck that, Stiles has never cared much what other people whisper about him unless it's, like, about his dick or something. So it's fine.

Lydia, though. Lydia is an angel. She yells at him for putting too much hydrogen peroxide in their chemistry mixture. She makes a face when Stiles drops his books in the hallway. She rolls her eyes when he teases Danny.

And when Stiles is at lunch, smiling, and pushing his food around his plate like planets in orbit, Lydia doesn't side-eye him worryingly like everyone else. She raises her eyebrows.

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Uhm. No?”

“Okay. Try again tomorrow.”

And if Stiles manages to grab a few bites without grimacing, she doesn't smile with the rest of the table. She still looks at him with a hint of condescension and boredom. But underneath, Lydia rest her leg against Stiles' and he feels a little bit more in control.

*  
  


Stiles takes to running as soon as he gets the all clear from Melissa. Not with the track team, just by himself. It exhausts him. It turns his brain to mush. It makes him feel strong and weak all at the same time.

He runs mostly in the mornings. (Stiles doesn't do well with the dark anymore).

  
*  
  


On really bad days, Scott comes over.

It's a cold, sunny Saturday when Stiles can't even breathe without tasting the ghosts of everyone he's killed.

“The Nogitsune killed her. Not you.” Scott says. Again and again. Until, presumably, Stiles believes it. Stiles doesn't think repetition is going to help him. But he nods.

They build a fort of blankets and pillows in the living room, just like they used to. Stiles can't stand the dark, but he loves being crammed in small spaces. He likes having his air stale and warm, like it is under the covers when you're scared.

They eat pringles and pizza and play a lot of Mario Party. Stiles usually plays Luigi, but he's been using Donkey Kong lately. Scott is Mario, like always.

During a particularly competitive minigame, Scott spills his soda all over Stiles. It turns into a wrestling match, one which takes down half the fort. Stiles lays on his back and barks out a laugh.

If it sounds strange, Scott doesn’t mention it.

Stiles isn't better, but this feels like a start.

  
*  
  


Of course, night is the worst. Stiles wakes up screaming a lot. Some nights he can't fall asleep at all. His Dad keeps suggesting therapy. Melissa gives him names, and offers to call. It's not that Stiles is opposed, it's just.

There's so much he wouldn't be able to say.

How can he really explain how he's feeling without saying things like:

        I hurt people.

        I killed people.

        A supernatural being possessed my worldly body.

It's just not that simple, yanno?

  
*  
  


Stiles is running his path one morning when Derek joins him. Stiles hasn't seen Derek in months. He looks the same. Scruffy, and grumpy, and kind of like a criminal from a wet dream.

Stiles would question his sudden appearance, but he's out of breath.

They run together for a while. Eventually Stiles reaches his limit and splays out in the grass, his chest heaving up and down. Derek sits down next to him. Not out of breath at all. Stupid werewolf.

“I don't blame you.”

That comes out of left field, and it's a good thing Stiles' body is all over the place, or he might have to explain the way his heart stops and starts again.

“Good, dude, because that would be really shitty considering a rabid werefox went all Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on my brain.”

Derek raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. Stiles feels guilty. He wonders if Derek can smell it, which freaks him out.

After a while, Stiles gets up. Derek too.

Stiles has to ask. “Did Scott ask you to do this?”

Derek honestly looks confused for a second. “No. I just thought you might need to hear it.”

Stiles remembers everything he knows about Kate and the fire and Paige.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. No problem,” Derek says, like it's not a big deal.

  
*  
  


Stiles re-learns how to be funny. It's actually kind of nice having people laugh at his jokes again. Things stabilize bit by bit. He smiles, and sometimes he means it.

He makes out with Danny at a party, in a room full of flashing lights, and doesn't get sick with panic.

He listens to Scott moon about Kira. Scott's more subdued about it than he used to be, with Allison. But it’s good.

He makes friends with Isaac, somehow. They both like jelly doughnuts. Miraculously, they both like The Mets. They both can breathe in the quiet better than in the noise. They both use night lights. It's a work in progress.

He and Lydia go shopping. She makes him try on a literal shitton of clothes. Says its therapeutic. It might be.

Stiles realizes it has been seven months since the Nogitsune, and he throws away all of his red string. He keeps the blue though. Just because.

  
*  
  


Everything seems like it's getting better, and it is, except Stiles and his dad still tiptoe around each other. The Sheriff got to keep his job, but there was a lot of press, and there were a lot of hearings and testimonies, and this and that.

His dad drinks at night and doesn't think Stiles knows. Of course he knows.

They both have nightmares.

His dad drinks too much one night and cries. Then he throws up in the sink. Stiles comes down and washes up. Leads his dad upstairs. Dresses him in sweats and a big grey BHPD shirt. They lay down in bed together and his dad holds him close.

“Don' leave tonight, Son. 'M scared you'll go away.”

“I'm right here.” Stiles says, even though he is scattered all across the house. “Go to sleep. I'll stay.”

When Stiles wakes up, his dad is gone, but there is a note that says I'm sorry and I love you. Stiles thinks, no. I'm sorry. _I'm_ sorry.

A few nights later Stiles screams himself awake from the worst nightmare he's had in months. His dad is behind him with an arm around Stiles' chest. Stiles wakes up and hiccups and throws up all over himself and his dad and the bed.

“I threw up.” He says, even though his dad is right there.

“It's okay, Son. I've got you.”

His dad gets Stiles up, and into the shower, and into warm clothes. He strips the sheets.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Stiles asks.

“Of course.”

Stiles brings his pillow into his dad's bed and gets under the covers.

When Stiles thinks his dad is asleep he starts crying. His body wretches and he can't help but make horrible noises. His lips taste like salt water.

His dad sits up and hugs stiles close. “Shhhh.” He whispers, petting Stiles' hair.

“I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry I'm sorry,” It doesn't sound like words. He's sobbing and heaving and thinking I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

“Shhhhh.” His dad whispers. “Shhhhhhh.”

Stiles cries into his dad's chest and thinks: why was I allowed to live. How am I supposed to do this. He thinks: I can't. He feels the weight of the deputies from the Sheriff's department. He feels the weight of all those people from the hospital and then Eichen House. He feels the weight of Allison.

She takes up most of his chest.

  
*  
  


Every day Stiles thinks about calling Chris Argent. Sometimes he even types out the number.

  
*  
  


During Christmas break, Stiles goes to Derek's apartment. Derek is in socks, making chicken pot pie. Stiles laugh himself to tears because Derek is in socks. Making chicken pot pie.

“What do you want, Stiles.”

That's a good question. Stiles isn't really sure what he wants.

“Do you still blame yourself?”

No one ever said Stiles had tact. I mean, he's not sorry he asked it. But still.

“Please, make yourself at home, ask me more about my deepest personal issues.”

Stiles always forgets what a sarcastic little shit Derek is. They're a lot alike. It shouldn't be unexpected but it is.

Stiles sits on the couch and amuses himself on his phone while Derek finishes making dinner. Eventually Derek settles down next to Stiles.

“Are you going to share?”

“No. I made this for me.”

“Sharing is caring.”

“Good thing I couldn’t care less about you,” Derek snarks.

He eats. Stiles watches.

“Yes.”

“What?” Stiles asks.

“You asked if I still blame myself. I do.”

Stiles makes a humming noise, but his limbs all of a sudden feel heavier.

Derek takes a bite, and then another. “It doesn't go away, but it does...”

“Get easier,” Stiles answers, like the words taste bad on his tongue.

“No.” Derek says. “Not really. It gets lighter. It spreads out.”

“How is that different?” Stiles asks.

“I don't know. It just is.”

  
*  
  


Stiles applies to Berkeley with Lydia, and they get in. Scott gets into a pre-vet program. Kira and Isaac get into small liberal arts schools. They're all, at most, an hour away from each other. It feels like a dream and they celebrate by throwing a big-ass party.

Stiles stays mostly sober. He makes out with Danny again, because it's fun and it feels good. He makes out with Lydia too, because why not. Then they play spin the bottle and it seems like he makes out with everyone from Beacon Hills High. Even Scott. It's not weird, though.

  
*  
  


Stiles is alone in the house, which isn't unheard of anymore, but it's still uncommon. It's a few days before he leaves for school, and there are boxes packed in various stages all around his room.

He's going through his desk drawers when he finds the business card with Chris Argent's hastily scrawled number on it. Stiles has it memorized, but finding the card sends a jolt through his stomach

He calls Scott.

“Can you come over?”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Just, can you?”

“Of course, be there soon.”

Stiles releases some of the tension in his shoulders when he hears the rev of Scott's bike outside.

Scott comes upstairs and sits on the bed.

“What's up, Bro?”

Stiles feels a pang of guilt because this isn't Scott's burden to shoulder. But Stiles can't shoulder it all on his own.

“I found this.”

He shows Scott the card. It's creased and soft around the corners. Scott knows what it is.

“You gonna call him?”

“Yeah, I think so. Yeah.”

They sit there for a while. Stiles dials the number, and this time, he presses send.

It rings twice and then there's a tri-tone, discordant sound.

        We're sorry.

        You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.

        If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.

All Stiles can think is, how fucking anticlimactic. He's spent every day wondering what would happen if he called. And nothing. Nothing would have happened since Chris Argent changed his fucking phone number.

Scott looks pained. Maybe he had thought about reaching out too. Dead ends feel a lot like drowning.

“I just wanted to.” Stiles looks at his hands. “I wanted to say I was sorry. He never heard me say it. I wanted to know if he...”

“What, blames you?” Scott sounds kind of angry.

“Yeah. I know it's selfish. I just wanted to know.”

Scott leans in, so their shoulders are touching. “Stiles, I don't know how many times I can tell you it was the Nogitsune. Your dad's told you. Lydia, Isaac, Kira. Even Derek's told you.”

Stiles feels small.

“None of us blame you. I'm not saying...” He sighs. “I'll tell you a million more times if that's what it takes. Everyone will. But I don't think that’s it.”

“So, what, then?” Stiles asks.

“You have to tell yourself or it doesn't matter.”

“I don't know if I can.” Stiles says. The words are too honest. They rub against his tongue like sour candy.

“Just try.” Scott says.

“Okay.” Stiles responds.

Scott looks at Stiles. “Do you blame yourself?”

Stiles takes a long time after. It doesn't feel like a question, it feels like a verdict. But he tries. He really tries.

“Yes.” He finally answers, because it is the truth.

“That's okay,” Scott says, slinging an arm over Stiles' shoulder. “We'll try again tomorrow.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Major Character Death warning is for Allison, who dies at the hands of the Nogitsune. Contains loss of agency and panic attacks.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if ya want: [wise-up-eyes-up](http://wise-up-eyes-up.tumblr.com)


End file.
